Ace Attorney Collection
by Carico Diethel
Summary: Ratings vary, but here are several of my horrid kink meme comment-boxxings and other small requests. Mainly PxE, but I'm budging into others...
1. Hall Monitor Edgeworth

Errr... IT's been way too long since I've written a fic. Tok me about an hour and a half, on and off. I'm sorry if it's completely and utterly LAAAAAME...

Also, I haven't played AJ, but meenie heads have spoilerized it, but I'm not sure on Kristoph's character...

Tried to sex it up in the end, but I guess I kinda blew it, tharrrr...

Anyhoo, enjoy, if you can.

--

I was in the 700's hallway, every day - passing periods, lunch, and right after school.

What is now a memory I'd have rather repressed in the first place was the only thing I could have considered my own recreational activity at the time. I wore a blue sash with red lettering, reading "PEER MEDIATION," and a name tag of my own design (This coming from a rather monotonous ice-breaker as the club met for the first time that trimester.). I was also readily equipped with a clipboard and royal blue pen.

In all honesty, I looked like Miss America, and no one was above pointing this out to any hall monitor at the time. There were fifteen of us in the Peer Mediation Club, and each of us either suffered greatly or mindlessly enjoyed that kind of remark, gender being the general factor. We were nine year olds, either a pretty lady or a ruthless warrior, and it wasn't supposed to mesh at our age. After a while, I started hiding it in my backpack and chose to, instead, work undercover.(I still kept clipboard, but it was me in cognito at the time, and I kept that fantasy to myself.)

It was rather a boring job, raising your voice to holler at your friends to stop running wasn't very cool for anyone(As if anyone actually listened.), but getting caught up in fights was an obligatory upgrade in the club to God Mode.

It was nearing the end of the first trimester, after school. Larry went so out of character as to kiss a fifth grader who had already devoted the rest of her good long life to her boyfriend, who was oddly enough a fourth grader like the two of us. Anyway, it was on the opposite end of the hall, near the exit to the field and kids were roaring as I saw Larry shoved into a trash can(It was so ferocious then, I wonder how it is in elementary school now.). Phoenix wasn't there - he rode the bus home. Lucky for him, or he would have tried himself to interfere, but this kid was big. Bigger than either of us, anyway.

I was dumb enough to think my clipboard, however, was the biggest, and I earned quite the "shiner" before the Assistant Principle intervened. Larry was out with a welt, and the three of us were RPC'ed.

Anyway, that was elementary school. That was when I lived in America.

Then it was "primary school", in Germany, and I could only move forward. Eventually, I was in "secondary", and I happened to do very well (I was in the top three in my class - particularly hard for males in Gymnasium). Either way, I was in the club then, as well. Uniforms were sadly no kinder to our ego. Instead, a school shirt was included.(Oddly, the nametag making ceremony made a comeback, as well.)

This time, I was in the basement of the main building, perfect for romantic getaways, apparently...

Why do these things always happen after school? I guess no one can afford to ditch classes anymore (No one should, mind you, but there's always an emergency or self-prescribed vacation in order.) I was allowed to check in and leave, just fifteen minutes to go, but I heard something fall over. Than hall was clean, so I assumed it came from the bathroom; the noise sounded muffled enough, so it was the door, I guess. I took caution, but I wasn't expecting to be pulled inside by two asinine, sex-driven, fiendish me--

--

"So that's where I recognize you from," He pushed his glasses up with a smirk condescending enough to let you know he was trying not to laugh. "Miles Edgeworth."

"Excuse me?" He gave one glance to Phoenix, seated at his right, and looked back at the man behind the glass.

"I remember you perfectly now. I only thought the hair was a mere coincidence..." Smugly, he eyed the ex-defense attorney through his glasses. "Funny how things tie together like this." He laced his fingers and rested his elbows on the table. "But, you really do tend to ramble on about absolutely pointless things when you find yourself too close to bourbon whiskey."

"So it was you?!" Edgeworth smacked his hand on the table, scanning his eyes over the guilty party across from him.

"Phoenix. Tell your cheaply drunken friend here to refrain from making me repeat myse--"

"There's nothing wrong with anyone wanting to meet the man who fucked over his man's career, now don't be so brash, Kristoph." Phoenix slid his binkie over his eyes and rested his hands on his stomache, his legs crossed on the counter. "It was his idea to meet you anyway. You're lucky I sent Apollo out for the drinks, or God couldn't even keep Miles from breaking that glass right now, and surely you know why." He shifted his eyes to Edgeworth. "Right, Miles?" Before the man could answer,

"You know, you really did look like Miss America."

"Shut the Hell up..."


	2. Doris Day

Done for: teagueful. livejournal .com/ 38756.html? thread11748452#t11748452

He made his way out of the defense lobby, through the door, down the hall, and slowly out of the court house. Maybe Phoenix only looked so horrified because he said it then and there? Put him on the spot- smooth move, Miles.

Maybe not: that was the worst part. Of course not. The room was clearing out enough that their whispering wouldn't bother anyone. Phoenix shook him head- he shook his fucking head. No. No no. No, and it made him want to vomit. He turned to the left and into the garage to meet his car, in between an orange SUV and a handicapped space. Another Doris Day.

Edgeworth simply looked up at the ceiling. He was hoping for tears to swell, maybe to give this all closure, but his eyes only felt heavy, heavier, the more he thought about it. He heaved a sigh and got in the car.

He actually took time beforehand to brainstorm and gather ideas on how, what, when, where, and why he could... would tell the attorney his feelings.

Well, here I go, putting myself on the spot.

Step right up Miles.

And all of a sudden, Phoenix likes girls, and everything that happened before was a misunderstanding of slapstick reality taken out of context in my fault.

"I, err... Edgeworth.

Thank you, but... I like girls, Mr. Edgeworth."

Mr. Edgeworth-- of all the fucking things to say! Mister... Mister... Mr. Edgeworth. I guess it had to be so formal. Him calling me by my first name would be too much for me to hear if I was only going to be missing out.

The concept pounded in his head like a mantra as he started the car.

Phoenix likes girls.

He slowly, gradually reached the corner.

Phoenix likes girls.

He turned another corner. Then another.

Phoenix girls likes.

He eventually reached his street, his brows bent.

Phoenix girls. Likes Phoenix.

He reached the door, turning the knob.

Girls Phoenix likes. Phoenix like.

He let himself in.

Likes girls. Girls Phoenix.

He ignored Pess and headed for his study.

Girls like Phoenix, and Phoenix likes girls.

He looked around his office and sat in his desk.

I like Phoenix, and Phoenix likes girls.

Edgeworth was alone and by himself.


	3. M: Performance is Delayed Due To Traffic

"Nngh- he's already dripping!"

His vision was blurred, but he knew he was surrounded, but by what? One person, two, three... four and five. His head lulled to the side and the sudden motioning blur made his head scream.

Scratch that, it was already screaming- his head, his neck, his arms and his tight wrists and his legs and he felt himself: two of himself, like he was being cut straight down the middle and he kept moving and, now that it's likely, his face is crudely burning across uneven carpet. He tried to look and see, listen... All he could sense was sharp, repetitional pain shooting up his back, but really, everything is droll and confusing and oddly feels like home, despite knowing something is way off.

He knew whe needed to get out of this- it was just that kind of idea that would help him out, if his mind was really his own anymore. The attorney was surrounded with tall figures and grunts and awkward laughter, and each seemingly shallow breath he took felt really, really good. Really normal.

"Who doesn't like to hear a little whore moan like that?!" A grunt came from behind him, and Phoenix felt something slide out, then deeply inbetween him again, and all he could do was exhale.

Damon Gant turned the volume up. His hands slid up the other man's vest. Gant stood. a gleaming pair of eyes glanced at the laptop that remained on the desk, but he concetrated more on the disheveled, haunted look on the prosecutors face.

Miles insisted on biting down on the ball gag in his mouth, although,both men knew that this had little to no effect. He was tied to his own chair in countless exotic little knots, and all he could do was throw himself forward to the screen in some reckless, illogical motion to reach out to the man on the other side of the screen. The laptop continued to stream the video, regardless, and Phoenix moaned deeply, His face and his voice so flushed and hallow, and he looked so hot and so bothered and Edgeworth merely laid his forehead down on his desk.

"Now, now, Worthy." Gant laid his hend on the back of Edgeworths head, pulling him up to face the screen by his hair and, dear God, pressed him closer. His forehead was now grazing the screen and his eyes and his ears peeled themselves open from the bright light and from Gant turning the volume up even tragically higher. "I went through all this trouble to indulge you. Might you indulge me with your gratitude?"

"Tell us you want more," the video skipped a frame and in that way matched Mile's heartbeat. "We can already -nngh- see that you like it. God, what a little slut..."

"Mi--" He interrupted himself with a watery moan. The camera moved over to his face as another man kneeled in front of the spikey-haired man's head. This man, from the belt down, unzipped himself and pulled out another throbbing erection to delight the screen. Miles sharply turned his head as the man forcefully took himself into Phoenix's mouth.

Edgeworth found himself another distraction, as the Chief of Police slid his arms down the man's chest again, down to his waistband. He gasped loudly into the gag, then mumbled savagely into the gag as Damon Gant drove his hands in, brushing and rubbing freely.

"Who would have thought you'd find this arousing, Worthy!" the man laughed aloud to himself, wrapping his long, calloused fingers around his victim's half-hardened sex.

The prosecutor arched his back forward in one, two vein attempts to curl up and force the man out from inside him, rubbing and tugging forcefully.

"If you stop resisting me now, Worthy," The taller man whispered loudly into the cringing man's ear. He loosened the gag from behind his ear and it fell to the mans lap. "I'll turn it off. He might even get out on good behavior."

"My good behavior..." Edgeworth finished for him, then hissed. After that he was almost silent, mumbling bitterly, incoherently, but quiet enough that it didn't bother the man greedily jerking him off.

"You catch on quick, Worthy..." Gant hummed and kissed Miles ear as he choked into a sob.

--

He clamped his eyes shut, tears streaming down his face. He felt his body, lifted by large, ridiculously strong hands. His body shifted against the larger man's chest and he knocked his head, a hiss as he was thrown onto the soft-cushioned, red sofa. He saw as he was left there, the Chief of Police had come prepared even further: an enema.

He winced as water poured onto the floor from inside of him.

He felt sick, Daman Gant simply sucked more water into the bulb, and placed it inside of him again. A soft squeeze, and the water filled him. It was an awkward sensation, and really, he was crying bitterly the whole time. He shivered and writhed back as the water spilled out again.

"Assuming from your behavior, you're usually on top." Gant took a second to eye Edgeworth, twisting his own gray lock oh hair. Miles didn't know what the man was thinking (well, he did), and looked away from the other man, and this man almost grinned from it. "Or is our little Demon Prosecutor really that sensitive?"

Miles cringed in response. Gant was right on his first assumption, but he didn't bother to loosen the man up anyway. He unzipped his pants, pulling out his blatantly thick cock, and Miles knew he was too big; way too much. Too much, and his whole body hurt like hell. It stung as the older man entered him. It stung as he ripped through the ring of muscle. He felt the blood roll down his cheeks, and the man started moving.

"I won't be offended if you think of Phoenix," Gant slid out, bending sideways slightly to perhaps see the man's face, but it was mashed into the sofa with his own hand. "Yet, something tells me he wasn't entirely thinking of you just now, was he?"

Edgeworth wanted to scream, call him a sick bastard, get out and run, to escape. He wanted to go break in and save Phoenix, but... but what was that? Phoenix...

Phoenix didn't stop anyone.

Something was wrong with that, and Edgeworth bit the pillow as Gant forced himself back inside.

This continued forever, it seemed. It was long enough, for sure. He was exhausted, thought he was going to die. Eventually.

Eventually, Gant came within him, sighed in relief. He was talking about something, but only God knew and only God could possibly care at this point.

Eventually, Gant pulled him by the hair, untied him, dropped him, and he left with everything. He couldn't stop him, he was gasping for air on the floor. He shivered lightly from the cold water that was spilled on the floor from the enema, and he very well could have vomited at that point. Oddly, he didn't.

Oddly, he lied there for an hour, then got up. He cleaned up the floor and left for home.

--

Phoenix was in his office the next day. He looked tired and flushed, but otherwise, seemed in relatively (tired) working condition. Edgeworth knocked, eyeing the attorney through the window.

Phoenix jumped up, deerishly, and, limping (go figure), answered the door.

"Miles!" Phoenix raised his brows. "I thought you stood me up."

"Pardon?"

"At the bar..." He paused, casuallyy. "You called me to meet you there last night, and I went, but... The Chieef of Police was there, but I didn't see you-."

He nodded, yet he had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.

"I was late, remember?" He lied. What the Hell was this? "Traffic issues, You got drunk and I drove you home." He bit his tongue, wishing to draw blood, but didn't bite down just hard enough,

"Oh, I see." He laughed. Miles hated himself for letting this slide past Phoenix. Yet he was surprised that he didn't catch on. The man in front of him merely smiled like he always did. Miles wanted to sob, but Phoenix scratched his head. "So, uhh... I'm just about finished with paperwork here, so how about lunch?"

"Lunch sounds fine, thank you." Miles held the door open. "In fact, it's on me."


	4. M: Perfect

She grinned, widely- too widely as she heard the delivery at the door. The bell rang, she didn't as much as answer, and the deliveryman simply left the package at the door, faked a signature, and left. The usual. Perfect. She waded to the door, sliding it open, clawing her hand from the side and brushed the box into the door with her hand.

--

And now his night was on. She slid into his apartment stealthily, although, out in broad daylight, no one paid any mind to the precocious woman as she made her way into his room. Filty, she though. She could clean it, if she wanted to.

I he wanted her to.

That was the point of everything. That was why she was here. She coughed out a laugh, placing the bag in front of the bed with much deliberation. Some poeple avoid cleanliness out of preference, anyway, she figure.

Several hours until he would probably come home from work anyway, so she stode to the kitchen, slowly, yet in her own relaxed pace. She noticed a small potted flower in the hall, but it withered, dead and dry as she past it.

She prepared herself a steaming pot of coffee (oddly, she remembered where things were in the man's kitchen). Yet, she still wondered why he had a coffee maker in the first place. She never saw him as a coffee person, he seemed so relaxed...

An hour passed, then another. Then one more, and she greedily started to pamper and prepare herself for Furio's birthday present.

She stripped, folding her clothes and hiding them under the bed, she found it gaspingly cold. She took deep breaths, and figures it was because she was particularly thin, but that's how she figured Furio loved it.

She opened the bag; collar- around her neck, leash-onto the floor, dildo- onto the bed, strap-on- she kept that in the bag. Perhaps she could take further initiative at a later time, if he so wanted.

She heard his voice. In the hall. He was here. Just meters away. He was already here--

and so was that freak.

That freak from the cafe.

He screamed first, passing out. She screamed horrifically, then Furio followed Armstrong's suit into unconciousness.

In any cas, it looked like the night was ruined- what, with two K.O.ed men in the room with one very naked, very taken back girl with a strap on.

Perfect.

--

Before anyone say anything, it's 2:30 here. That's my only excuse.

--

teagueful./38756.html?thread11595364#t11595364


	5. M: No hands This Time Around

"N-no hands?"

"Nein, Forehead," Klavier chiefly tied the last knot in the tie around his lovers hands and turned him around. "That how this game is supposed to work."

"Well, then..." Apollo quirked his brows, facing the wall. He turned back, "You have to tie yours too."

"Me?" Klavier already looked confused, but more in condescending playfulness than from being thrown off guard. "I won the hand, Herr Forehead, and that means you have to tie your hands."

A scoff. "Doesn't mean I have to touch you."

"I can always get off on my own."

"But I know you won't like it."

"I'll get the cuffs." Apollo saw this as another win for the defense, and fell back onto the prosecutors massage chair. The longer he had been in this man's office, the more he slowly took over the place, he thought.

"I can't find them."

"Check in the blue guitar."

"In it?" Klavier turned to face the younger man.

"Remember, Trucy coming by the other day," He nodded. "I had to dispose of the evidence for the while."

"Good call, Forehead." He pulled his hands behind his back, and locked.

He gracefully (but with a hint of haste) made his way over to Apollo, how had slouched deeply into the chair, legs spread apart and a blatant smirk on his face. Klavier simply assumed the a similar position on the floor, his back against his desk, tugging lightly on the cloth as his back pinched it against the table. He grinned and ddeliberately placed a coo in his voice, "Get over here, Forehead."

Apollo sighed, and Klavier knew that it was merely because that was one comfortably damned chair. He gave off his charming smile as Apollo came and kneeled between his thighs, leaning over to give him a firm kiss.

"So, Herr Forehead," he smirked. "How do you plan to get me hot with your hands tied?"

"I should have made you get a blindfold as well." was his response.

"You'd be taking too much liberty, for one losing a bet."

"Touche'..."

He started with kissing him on the forehead, fitting, and moved down, ignoring his mouth ("You bitch"), and concentrated on his jawline. Apollo nibbled on one hear, then down to suck lightly on the crook of the man's neck.

Klavier gave out small, relaxed huffs as the younger man continued to move down to the man's chest. The jacket, he bit by the collar and overlapped his shoulder; the shirt, he left alone as he lightly grazed his cheek against one nipple. This turned into slow, yet gradual rubbing and the prosecutor gave out a stuttered moan as Apollo eventually gave it a hard suck.

He drifted his eyes upward to see the aroused prosecutor flustered beneath his mouth. The older man's breath changed from slow, regular breaths to faster, deep, voiceful heaves as Apollo smirked, then dragged himself down to the man's groin.

He bit deeply into the belt, using his tongue and excellent dexterity as one to release the buckle on the belt and pull it out. He was even polite as to bite the denim and lick the button out.

"I could even stop here," he bit the zipper, dragging it slowly down.

"Do you want me to kick you?" Klavier looked down at the man below him, his face a blushing red. "Good thing you didn't ask me to tie my hnn--"

The musician gave out a loud, watery moan as the brunette gave the man's hardened sex one long, teasingly forceful lick through his boxers.

Another smirk from the defense. "I could stop here, too."

"Da--" The blonde choked into another sort of groan as Apollo covered him with his mouth. He arched his back, and rested his chin on the younger man's back, breathing heavily. "Haa--!!" He heard Apollo gag himself from below, but even then resisted the urge to force-fuck the man's mouth either way.

Apollo felt the man's flesh when it peaked through the fly of his underwear, and that firm, slick feeling itself was what left himself driven wild. The evening, as he wanted, was going to end with one or the other: himself in Gavin or Gavin in himself. and since at this point, he was only half-way through with untying himself (as it would only be impossible to get both their pants off otherwise)and this felt ridiculously good anyway, this was how it had to be done for now.

He kept licking, sucking, breathing cooly on the prosecutor's sex, he assumed Klavier was about to come (he had learned the man's personal symptoms, as Klavier never did tell him when he was about to go over), and confirmed himself when Klavier's sex twitched and the blonde's moaning was constant and feverishly deep.

He released, two hands reached and pulled Apolloes vest and shirt over his back, and Apollo kept his mouth closed over the head as he repetitively raced his tongue over the tip. Apollo flinched as he felt his wrists ache tighter.

Klavier gasped, again, and a third time. He nodded his head to the side, Apollo's followed suit and saw a bright shine of light as it went over the cuffs, discarded to the side, "Turn around."

He beat him to it.

--

Sorry, this turned out pretty awul... I kept gettin distracted, and now that I've raced back to it, my inspiration had just all gone straight to Hell.

I hope you like it anyway! Time for a shower!

--

teagueful./38756.html?thread11162212#t11162212


	6. Slow Down el Kink Meme!

"So, I guess you've read it too..." Edgeworth locked his brows as one Maya Fey stormed into his office, leaving her spikey-haired escort outside the door.

She herself looked tired, aged. A haunted, humiliated, offended look mirrored on her face from his own. She heavily stepped over to Edgeworth's side, where he had kept his laptop open to the Phoenix Wright Kink Meme.

"I didn't think it would come to this..." Maya reread the requests, refreshed, and read three more. "It's just a parade of requests, even when several have already been done!"

The two aged slowly, side by side. They were at the top of their league. They filled requests, "like jelly in doughnuts", as Maya humored, and Edgeworth had certainly had his share of P/E slashing to merely reflect and fantasize about his outings (and innings) with the other attorney, and as long as it was anonymous, he pryed into other slashes occasionally as well.

"Let's post about it, shall we?"

"I think we have to." Edgeworth crossed his arms, scooting backwards in his chair as Maya greedily threw herself to the keyboard, still standing, and he nodded his head in approval. "Otherwise, we'll just be stuck with one sick orgy of requests."

HOLD IT, Anons!

We've passed 4000 comments. Leave some space for people to fill requests!

"That looks good, right?" Maya grinned, looking back at Edgeworth over her shoulder.

"What? Is it missing a smiley?" Edgeworth craned his neck to read the comment around Maya. She stuck her tongue out at the older man, but couldn't find any sort of snarky comment to retaliate, so she simplty sent the comment, and after a few clicks, chuckled laughed to herself.

"What's so funny?"

"reCaptcha says 'great JUSTICE'"

Edgeworth caught himself in a snort and the two eventually burst into their own sort of manic laughter.

--

teagueful./35657.html?thread9746505#t9746505


	7. M: Euphamisms

Edgeworth slumped against the wall and groaned as the other man played tug-o-war in his pants. He felt his bobo throb in the man's hands, and he flushed, his eyes fluttering downwards, his hands grazing the others wrists.

"Looks like Daddy Long-stroke is ready to spit at me," Phoenix nip-nipped at the prosecutor's ear. The man wiggled beneath beneath him, shrugging in pleasure. "but I'd much rather prefer fucking it out of you."

A moan in response. "Please, Wright."

"Please -what-, Miles?" He grinned, flicking the man's foofer. "We agreed on a name."

"Please, Dickimus Maximus..." He spazzed as the man stroked a big one out of him. "Please- inject me with your thick cock!"

"That's what I like to hear." The man unzipped himself at that moment, and slowly, teasingly pulled out his deep-veined purple-helmeted Spartan of Love. The mere sight of it made Miles' eyes swell like grapefruits as the other man turned him around and pack him into the wall like a sardine. He brushed his stubble across the back of the man's neck, making Edgeworth shudder from beneath.

He slowly rubbed across the man's glory-hole with his thumb with a half-lidded smirk on his as it pecked.

"Stop toying with me," cried Edgeworthm then a shallow, horny whisper. "Please... Stick it in the pooper-"

"We're you saying something, Edgeworth?"

"J-JAM IT IN!"

Phoenix nearly lost his marbles as the grey-haired man bent his booty upward at him, eager and desperate in lust, and he could only impale him with this Excalibur.

"Oh yes..." Edgeworth hissed, in pain. "Stuff me like a Thanksgiving turkey!!"

A grunt, another moan in response came, and he gradually threw Edgeworth into a flurry of rhythmless bonking and heaving, driving him to a place in his body where no man has ever gone before.

They erupted like Hawaiian volcanoes at the same time, Wright's meat-milk spilling out of the other man's sheuch. Edgeworth merely felt his knees buckle as he fell to the floor. Phoenix was tired, hoping Edgeworth would have more energy to go make him a sandwich, but miracle never happen.

--

There are some things I refuse to tell myself I actually wrote anymore...

teagueful./38756.html?thread11687268#t11687268


	8. AU: They're All Straight

Sorta AU, with Edgey and Feenie in highschool. After that... Well... I tried.

--

WHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISTLE

"Wright, honestly!"

"Sorry, sorry," The older man shifted his hat, raised eyebrows while still eying the waitress. Thanks God it was a generally loud place, with alcohol, that such behavior was common. "But you saw her too, Edgeworth. I just have the charisma to--"

"Charisma?" A choked laugh, placing down what he still called a 'pint'. "If hooting is all in leadership skill, then you were the Hitler of high school, and you know it."

"And you were Bush."

"I'd be surprised you didn't shuffle the deck with every girl in our graduating class--"

"Missed three, actually."

"Really? And who were the lucky ladies?" Edgeworth raised his brows with his cup to his lips, as if a little taken back.

"HA. HA." Came Phoenix, he lightly swung his drink to the left and took another sip. He looked over at the waitress, helping another table. "Audrey, Melanie, Grepeth--"

"Oh thank GOD." A sigh of relief. "At least you had the decency to steer clear of Cockhound--"

"Seriously! You know that for looking at her too long, the Gonorrhea'll just seep into your eyes!"

"Good thing she sat in the back."

"Good thing for her." A snarky smirk from Phoenix.

Edgeworth spit his drink back into his cup. "You're kidding."

"You, Mr. Bookworm(a nod from Phoenix), never really took your nose out of your homework (which should be done at home, I mean really, Miles...) to know just what happened in American Literature AP."

"You know, I'm still surprised you managed to get in that class."

"I went Shakespearean in college, mind you, and I'm not Larry." He grinned.

"True, I suppose--"

"By the way, are you still a virgin, Miles?"

"Pardon?" A flush, he refused to pull at his collar, as if the Magatama wouldn't give him away.

"Oh dear God..."

"I'm not a virgin, Wright."

"No shit, but now I owe Maya twenty--"

"You were betting on it?" Edgeworth pressed his elbows into the table, humored, but a little surprised.

"It's a hot topic, I'll have you know."

"Between?"

"...Everyone." The two gradually fell into a harsh laughter. Drinks were carefully dropped onto the table and Edgeworth and Phoenix were hunched into their chairs.

"I bet it's the cravat." Edgeworth huffed.

"Think?" A snort from the two, before they were interrupted by one Apollo Justice and one Klavier Gavin. The two gave out only a couple heaves of laughter, nodded at the two, giving them seats.

"And I'm sure this is only funny with so many drinks, ja?"

"It's about time, you two..." Edgeworth nodded his head to the side, taking another drink. "Staring into each other's eyes in court, I assume?"

"Thanks for waiting." Apollo took his seat next to Phoenix, waving both of his hands towards Edgeworth and Phoenix apologetically. "We finally finished court."

"You kicked his ass, right?" He smirked at Apollo, then grinned at Klavier, who crossed his arms playfully.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but we'll have to carry it out tomorrow." Klavier shrugged. "How was wooing eachother across a romantic dinner?"

"Exotic. Erotic." Phoenix looked up at the blonde again. "God, I love bars."

"You remembered protection for later, Wright?"

"Oh Hell yes," Phoenix grinned. "Handcuffs?"

"Pink."

"Fitting."

"Didn't bother with a key, so you'll have to eat it off."

Klavier took a seat next to a hysterical Edgeworth, patting him on the back. "So, what did we miss?"

"We were talking about our sex lives." Phoenix played shifty-eyes.

"Our real sex lives, mind you." Edgeworth waved his finger. "Women. Breasts, mind you."

"Awww, shucks." Phoenix looked down and cupped his chest.

"Your manchest is fine too, Wright."

"Really?" Phoenix grinned with his teeth, playfully.

"Maybe after a few more drinks." Edgeworth smirked.

Apollo. "You have a sex-life, Mr. Wright?"

"'Had,' Hell yes." A nod with a scratch to the neck. "'Have...' not so much after college."

"Law is quite a turnoff." Edgeworth pointed at Klavier with his drink in his hand. "Remember that."

"'Rockstar' has its perks, though." A devilish grin from the other prosecutor."

"Really, now?"

"And who's the victim?" Apollo sat up straighter in his chair.

"She's a translator for this Austrian singer I'm planning on performing with. Her name is Grepeth. Met her backstage after a concert. Tall (but shorter than me), brunette, thick legs and a goddess in bed--"

"Oh, just errmm... what a shame." Edgeworth put words in his own mouth to hide the 'hanging-open' expression as he scooted his chair out and lifted himself up. "I have to let Pess out."

"Yeah , uhh... I'll help." Phoenix shot up from his chair.

"Yes, I always appreciate your help with that." Edgeworth nodded as he took one step from the table. "He's quite the monster."

"I remember when he bit your foot off--shh, he's fine." He hushed the exasperated Apollo who remained seated at the table. "Just a flesh wound. Let's go."

They had to wait until they got outside to kick around and utterly freak out.

--

teagueful./38756.html?thread12639844#t12639844


	9. Dirty Dancing

Two videos in and he knew this was going to be difficult.

Very, very difficult. Apollo winced as he watched yet another video titled "BOOTY DANCE," flustered, yet forcing himself to watch, concentrating on which and in what way Ascotmascot moved and twirled and shook his ass on screen. He tried to conceive as to just why 30 year old men were willing to shake their stark-naked bodies on camera, moreso to put it on the Internet.

He was naked, at the moment sitting at his computer, but before and eventually at the present, standing in the middle of his bedroom with his laptop on his bed. The lights were brightly on (he figured it would help him to just get it all out in the open, instead of only encouraging his reclusion in the dark or under a dim light).

apollo took a deep breath, standing straight with his chin up. He paced his breathing in an attempt to cool down, and eventually, he did.

"Let's do this, Justice..." he turned his CD player on via portable remote (technology he did indulge himself with after Mr. Wright saw a delectable five-finger discount at Radioshack). It turned to T-Pain (popular in the field, according to Phoenix. a God of his time). Whatever it was, it was ridiculous, but although he was doing this for Klavier, any song the man did simply could follow a dance. "This can't be too hard."

The music drowned out whatever German techo there was in the video, and Apollo started to rotate his hips. This he was good at, he was amazing with a hula hoop, and he knew it. He still kept his eye on the video, and from observation, put effort into sticking his butt out.

To say anything, he jutted out too far, threw himself off balance, and hit his head against his dresser. He flinched bitterly and rubbed his head. He recovered quickly and stood, stepping further away from the dresser, and slowly tried to ease back into what he was doing with his hips.

He did press his ass out again, this time, rather discreetly at first. He started singing to the song (left it on repeat, fuck it), then saw the man in the video movie up against a wall and continued with whatever he was doing. Apollo was immediately intrigued, since one could figure it would feel like simply moving against another body. He turned to the wall, placed his hand on it (keeping his eyes to the screen), and started ... grinding his hips against the wall. The thought itself came off rather desperate and awkward to himself, even.

But even moreso to one Phoenix Wright as he casually walked into the room. Apollo froze, as did this intruder.

A cough, "Excuse me," Phoenix turned directly around, raising his eyebrows as he left (leaving pudding on the man's desk), "I'll come back later."

Several, awkward, haunting steps could be heard down his hallway, the two voices. One precocious girl asking where Apollo was, and another traumatized father telling her that the meek little attorney was still soundly asleep.

This was going to be... much, much harder than he thought. More importantly, he had to get dressed and find out just how the hobo and the magician got into his house in the first place.

--

teagueful./35657.html?thread10769481#t10769481


	10. To Artemisia

Bad morning.

Sometimes he wandered through town on some indefinite mission, errands. On other occasions, he peddled to the creak of chain and the breathy air of spokes with no aim whatsoever. Apollo turned left.

He felt something lagging at the bottom of his brain- something that could have killed him three weeks ago, had he thought through the situation then. Instead, that story ended in cheering with some obnoxious grin and a pat on the back for good 'ol Phoenix Wright.

He wanted to go somewhere.

It took a minute of thinking to realize where already he was. He rolled his eyes upwards, disregarding the cracked sidewalk endlessly ahead of him. He mind was caught in a torrent, an empty lull of a stream.

He was two blocks away from the Agency. Apparently, he was going in a complete and utter circle.

A breath, and this particular man of the law heaved a breath of effort and stepped again. Forward- he let his eyelids sag, and knowing the neighborhood well enough, he could simply close his eyes. The mood wouldn't let him do it.

He saw the egg-white paint ages away from the Agency, wincing shamelessly at the snap of a twig under his wheel. He'd slept in that particular building several times, whether he was deep in the labor of a case or Mr. Wright refused to let him leave and "die a painful death" against a thunderstorm. iBut it was only drizzling, Mr. Wright./i

He stopped pedaling once he crossed the last street over, and let his feet dangle and drift against harmless little rocks that scritched on the sidewalk under his shoes. For some reason, that small scratching noise relaxed him, the bike against each slit in the sidewalk giving him a metronome to think on.

If it was anything close to what he thought it was, it was a sign. In particular, a sign to the Wright and Associates office. It was impressive, at least. Whatever associates he had, they must have pitched in to get a decent plaque, as whatever the tacky black letters on the door said years and years before, the adhesive left a tone to it.

Congratulations.

Come to think of it, this associate. He saw his face, maybe. He might have read ihis/i name once before now. It was coming to him as simply a figment of solid memory, but he couldn't put a face to him, nor a name. He read it on an envelope. A pen-pal, really.

Apollo drifted to the other side of the sidewalk. He preferred ignoring that detail. He preferred ignoring the small lot of grass just next to the door.

He preferred ignoring the idea that Phoenix had a second life from him. Even if that one had so much more to it that coming home with pudding to a sweet girl in blue and a stuttering little man such as himself. Apollo never asked him about it. Maybe that's why seeing his imentor/i in a suit, sans hat, looked so utterly profane and naked to him that he just up and left this morning.

Here he is, Mr. Justice having a fit over Mr. Wright's little scarlet letter.

It was, at least, understandable that he was scared of being replaced. Not the initial complaint, but a thought that clicked in his mind. iGreat, I'm paranoid too./i

The wheel was hitting the curb at the end of the street. He realized he could just go forward at this point, but settled in the middle of the way with his feet placed on the ground and let his hands drop to his thigh. He leaned back and knew he was looking rather cool, just sitting there.

iCool/i was the word; he craned his neck to look back at the sign, distant from foot to foot. Didn't move his hands, he still saw the stupid square foot of marble. Apollo gave a tired sigh- true to the fact that he's been outside all morning. He realized just how nippy everything was- he rolled his sleeves down.

Now this was a spectacle, he thought, but he was back in that comfort zone. Apollo looked to the ground. Phoenix had been on his mind all day, at least since he left. Whatever he had on his mind prior to seeing Phoenix in the attire he was so famous for was obsolete. He lost that appetite he needed to enjoy a nice breakfast.

So he's out wonderful March weather, he's active, but his shirt feels weird around the cuff and his stomach's gradually discovered it's emptiness.

He looked back at the office. The more he thought about it, the more his neck ached from the strain he was putting on it. He sighed, faked a decent piece of a smile, and almost turned left.

It was out of such luck, that, when he put his hands to the bars, he heard a creaking noise- one too familiar a dulcet.

He stared at Phoenix Wright as he graced around the door. A click, and he was in his jacket. His jacket and hat now, but tacky blue pants hung from his waist. It didn't match anything, and looked rather ridiculous.

Something compelled conversation. "Early bird, Apollo?" The reply was an uncharacteristically reluctant "Good morning, Mr. Wright."

"I was just about to go for breakfast, care to come along?"

* * *

No wonder this would turn into a short walk to Lunchland. It wasn't a bad place at all- nice, relatively quiet this time of the day, but it smelled too much from the coffee being ingested by the majority. It was pretty fast paced for one to look around, but if you kept your eyes around your own table, it was a pretty gentle, slow radius.

"So what have you been up to this morning?" Ever since last April, there had been this hesitation to go anywhere else in particular, Mr. Wright said. Now, he clips a fry in his lip. "Fighting crime on an empty stomach?"

"Yeah, pretty much the usual," a snicker in return. "Just realized I was hungry when I saw you."

"Well, that's dirty!." He laughed openly when Apollo finally caught on and stole a fry, grimaced as usual.

"Very funny." Apollo eyed the ceiling, downing food as he went along- this is the time in every conversation that time slows down, and he felt that horrible foreboding of them talking things out. "So, when do you open your office?"

"We're getting things arranged that we'll open office around the beginning of May. Edgeworth still has things to close up in Europe, so he'll be back around the 24th or so. Not sure."

"Are you excited?"

"Well yeah, sure! I mean, this is what I do, just... I miss court like you wouldn't believe." He scratched on his hat, tipping it. "I felt this pressure on me, and it satisfied me. Now I just around and point out plot holes in movies while Trucy picks on the acting."

"As I've seen," Apollo smiles and his company nods a few times. "And this Mr. Edgeworth?"

"Ummm, well... He was a prosecutor here. I've known him since grade school- really a great guy. I think you two'll get along."

"So umm... April then."

"Yeah, then I'm sure he'll have me moving things around the office to his liking. He's always been nit picky like that. But it's cute, huh?"

"I guess..." He moved to suck on his straw.

"...Apollo, tell me something."

Sip. "Yeah, Mr. Wright?"

"You're not yourself this morning."

"I'm not?"

"Not really, no... At least, I don't see it, but I'm sure Trucy would right now."

"Well, I don't see anything wrong here, so... I'm fine, really," and Apollo faked a smile to finish it off.

There, however, was a problem in his own judgment. His friend was still looking at him with the same expression. Apollo tried to censor his own mind with the sounds seeping in from the rest of the restaurant, as effective as it was. His eyes were numbing inside his head, but Phoenix still spread his mouth out in lack of satisfaction from his "pupil," as it were. To top that off, the image of Phoenix hands pursing through his hoodie, fondling something in his pocket let him knew that... it wasn't as convincing as it could have been.

"I should be looking for a new firm, shouldn't I?"

And look- look here. It's all out in the open for Phoenix to shrug and think this over.

"You want to leave?"

"I figured you and, this Mr. Edgeworth were iWright and Associates/i, so... hmmmm..." he simmered into his chair. "I just thought that--" He was interrupted by a sedated little grin, relaxed by an early morning and something that was apparently no big deal to him.

"Since when didn't we associate, Apollo?" He flicked salt packets across the table. This was a pastime. "Edgeworth sent me that plaque, if that's what you mean. I didn't know that it'd bother you so quickly."

"If, I dunno. We didn't really get much of a chance to talk about it, and you've always seemed to be talking to this... Mr. Edgeworth?"

"I guess I did do a bad job at that, huh? I didn't mean to leave you out, but most of my work between me and Mr. Edgeworth wasn't really about the office at all."

"Really?"

"No, it was mostly personal, with a hint of organization like flights and living arrangements and whatever. He sent the plaque and I put it up last night." iOh, okay then. So--/i "So I don't want you to leave. I assumed you wouldn't want to anyway, right?"

They both smiled at each other. Apollo aimed a salt packet at Wright, and flicked. "Right." It missed, but it really didn't matter. The crinkling noise altered the atmosphere. That was what he needed to top it off. It was- people talking behind them made no intimidating difference anymore.

Neither had much of a tip, but they left anyway. It didn't occur to either of them that Apollo had left his bike out on the sidewalk-- broad daylight even, until they returned. The shine it had as they saw it down the block caught them off guard as they gradually identified it down the street.

Apollo croaked in his shoes and Mr. Wright laughs, as surprisingly, it was just fine the way it was-- nothing was stolen from him.

Good morning.


	11. The Minor Fall

I didn't see gates tattered in lights. I didn't see this gaping pit of black fire and I didn't see the Lord.

We had settled in two creaking chairs outside from even the lobby- a place she and I were capable of talking on our own. The room was filled with officers- unarmed, but that's the style. They're not here to be officers, as a slew of them play the witness. This is where they wait and give directions to jurors and family, family friends...

Her name was Dahlia. Dahlia Hawthorne from uptown. She had to be, although, I never read her profile. I didn't need to; it was all in her gesture. She was pretty, I'll give her that. She was New York around the beginning of June. Thin and pretty, I guess. Nothing to spit at, but nothing to ask to dinner, either. That was in her behavior. She didn't act like a young, vivacious woman from LA. She didn't even act like California. She was 50 years old... She was 39 years old...

She was 21.

I'm 27, and I'm the only one in the room worth a cup of coffee.

"Mr. Armando, you did call me here to discuss this case, yes?"

"I did. Just checking up on you," I pressed my heel into the floor. "I'm sure after such a fiasco, as you've seen, you'd know some girls go crazy over time."

"Some girls are already crazy, Mr. Armando." I crooked a smile at the idea that there was wit in that head of hers.

"You were quick to say that--"

"That woman... Ms. Fey," she fingered the handle to her umbrella... sunbrella-- there's a name for that thing. She had it closed in her lap. I agree that in such proximity, it was smarter to keep something so gaudy withdrawn. "How is she doing?"

"Mia. She's been alright-- it hasn't killed her or anything. It was her first case after all. She's not interested in taking another case. Scared the Hell out of her."

This Hawthorne girl. She kept her eyes on me, staring just below the eye. She wasn't exclusive to what I was saying, and I could tell she was focusing. Just thinking over it.

"She hasn't let it go."

"She shouldn't."

And I looked at her right on back. I let the cup weigh itself in circles. The blend was a wave in its cup, and I was God.

"It was her fatuity, Mr. Armando." She looked forward. The doors had opened, and a retinue of, what appeared to be students followed into the ruck of dying out voices. I heard a tinkering noise below me, but I had also tipped my cup against the arm of my chair, so it was dutifully ignored as I gazed at these young men and women. It must be that time of year again- the season of diffusion into the working world. The future aces and spades of law, really. All obnoxious college students, from the deliberate freshman to the horrid, stoic seniors in this major. "That romantic idea of finding such a truth- it made a man drink poison, and she extinguished that dream herself."

"Your poetry's improved over time, Ms. Hawthorne."

"It's the truth."

An audience was made of us, of these law students who gawked and craned their necks. They awed at shoe marks that skidded across the floor, quietly, and they were mentally ready to spin.

Dahlia was humming. Something-- I had heard it before. It was obvious, blatantly obvious, but I couldn't name it. Something sad. Something only she could make sound optimistic, and it fitted the atmosphere.

I'd heard that tune a thousand times.

"She was close to getting you in trouble, young lady."

"Aha! The deviant Delilah. A few letters off, but I'm suddenly this novel vagabond- making way with the treasure, but wait! Who could stop me, but the husky dreamer on her first try. I wonder if she was set to write a book about it. "

"Oh, now you're angry."

"Pardon, but it suits something stuck in my head."

"Well, maybe you can write me a little poem about it."

"I'd rather not, not with Mia Fey to come a twist what I say to make me fit her fantasy. I wonder what she'd do to my eulogy."

My mind was groggy. My vision was blurred, and I wondered if something had been watered down in my mouth. Still, I registered what she had said, and this reaped a glare to the side of her head. "That was six months ago, Ms. Hawthorne."

"But it's not over yet."

"'Not over yet,' now what does--"

The brat ignored me completely. I saw her mouthing words to something. Not much of that, but playful "la-da's" graced over her lips in some partially muted opera, orchestrated by mankind in this mediocre excuse of a theatre. I however, was shut out until she looked at me. Her head dipped to the side. Some sort of gleam in her eye. "There's a blaze of light, in every word."

It was the only thing I really caught onto. She was deliberate with it. She openly started to sing. She was ready to stand. At least, that's what my eyes darted to. I was her private audience, anyway.

"It doesn't matter which you heard" was dying out in her voice. She was still singing under her breath.

My mind was hazed, and suddenly, I couldn't see.

I couldn't see, but I heard her up and leave.

Leave, as I threw my hand out.

"The holy, or the broken--"

Hallelujah.

She was singing Hallelujah.

That's when I realized I was coughing, gagging and spitting. I must have been hunched over-- I felt at least that much in my back, but my hands were filling with ants. Ants in my hands and my feet and my legs, but I was hunched over and all I could smell was whatever had spilled across the floor. The sounds of glass breaking initiated an encore of policemen and muffled voices.

I was going to Hell.

I was going to Hell, and all I could smell was the fragrance of dark coffee and all I could hear was a symphony for damned children. I fell from the chair and limped into something. I couldn't feel what arms must have held me, but my head weighed back and I knew someone was holding me. My mind was filling up with the meaningful depth of cotton. All I felt last were my eyes. I couldn't see anything, but the weight of blood running through them throbbed against my skull.

All I saw was red.


	12. Edgeworth Maces a Hobo

http:// teagueful. livejournal. com/41371 .html? thread=15116187#t15116187

I forgot I even wrote this one...

-----

"I'll see you later, Daddy!"

"I'll be back for you after your show," He grinned, "With pudding?"

"Yay!" Trucy gleamed, giving her father a hug as she patted his back. "My show will be over by 9:30!"

"Sounds good," Phoenix hugged her back, tightly, stepped back and waved goodbye. "I love you."

"Love you Daddy!"

He waved and left, open for a soothing bit of exercise.

He breathed in deeply. It wasn't Kurain Village, but it was still the great outdoors. He could breath in all he wanted-- and no smokers. Maybe this was why he never got a license? He felt dizzy-- a good dizzy, though, and at that point he felt like walking faster. Get his blood going a little, yeah. That's how city-folk do things.

Hmm? A man just turned the corner. He's running! I wonder if he's being chased. No, there's twenty feet with no one behind him, and-- is he-- HE'S CHARGING AT ME- Is that a--

BAM!!

Generally, walking slower was supposed to be relaxing. RELAXING, Phoenix, but for some reason you find this ample opportunity to get hit by cars and socked in the face. Right when he made a decent observation, but now he gets hit in the eye.

Wait--

OWWWW.

He pressed his palm over his left eye. He opened his right, but he was wincing with his back turned to the perpetrator. So some guy just comes up and punches me now?

He winced.

It's that doilie...

...

"Edgeworth?!"

"Wha-- _Wright_?"

"If that's what you Germans call a gesture of Holiday, really, you should--"

"What are you wearing?!" Figures. This is Miles Edgeworth, after all.

"And where's my hug?" Phoenix wrapped his arms around the other man. "I know, I know. Pretty Manly of me."

Edgeworth slowly finished off the embrace with arms across Phoenix back with a few pats on the man's blades. "Now, what's become of my beautiful country while I've been away?"

"In eight months?" Phoenix felt his mouth spread in a smile. "Nothing really, the economy's just gone to shit again."

"Not surprised."

"Trucy's doing a show at the Wonder Bar right now, so I'm out here fighting crime as usual," a pause. "And you're out here... socking people in the face--"

"I just saw some gangster key my car."

"A gangster?"

"A gangster, Phoenix. He keyed my car and ran this way." He pointed past the other man and down the street.

"So you go on some hobo beat-up rampage?!"

"I couldn't tell it was you--"

"I've been wearing the same shit for three months!" Phoenix stepped back. "In case you've forgotten, bless your sweet soul, I'm a fucking video game character!!"

"I know! I know, but I mean... beanies and hoodies, beanies and hood--" Miles, dumbfounded, stared at his lifelong friend as he burst out into a charming giggle fit.

"Wright--"

"I'm sorry- I'm sorry!" He grinned. "I've been bagged in the face before, so it's no big deal, Edgeworth, but..."

"But what?"

"Pudding." He looked upward and to the left. "Come with me to the store. I'm getting Trucy some pudding."

"Do you want me to pay?"

"Only if you want to." He winked with his slowly swelled, darkened eye.

"I think I have to at this point."


	13. Polly the Fanboy

* * *

Http:// teagueful. Livejournal. Com/ ?thread=17628721#t17628721

"Really, Adrian." He pressed his eyes upwards and kept them to the ceiling, blowing his bang out of his face in vein. "Really?"

"I'm sorry, but it turns out that you'll be in the same signing room as Mr. Corrida."

"Just call the shmuck 'Juan', okay?" He curled his lip over. "Y'know, just call him 'schmuck.'"

Signing began at 3 P.M., more like 3:12, but that's just how celebrities are allowed to work, and it suited the fans just fine. _Fashionably late_, maybe.

That being said, even if one person was bleeding fans from his nose, it was deemed perfectly acceptable to leak over into the other, much shorter line. Either way, they're both _famous_.

Juan "Smuck" Corrida had a line curling around the door. Engarde could spit.

He did.

Juan Corride, however, was a stunning gentlemen. A heart of great sportsmanship resided in him as he nodded and, realistically speaking, shooed guests over to the other line.

"He waved at me!" One fan shuffles. Then two more. The immediate reply came out fairly audibly as such, "OhmaGAWD you whore!"

Two more shuffled into Engarde's line. He glared at Juan, the smug son of something terrible, who merely waved at him.

And there he was. It was. After today it doesn't deserved to be identified as anything other than _the Thing Dude_.

Two leafy sprouts of hair dalloped side-to-side over an exaggerated forehead as the Thing Dude shuffled from second in Juan's line to fifth in Engarde's line as Juan rashly waved his hand again. Matt craned his neck to conclude that this kid did cut in line, but the little Pikmin reject sneezed. Everyone backed away nicely and let him in. Celebrity, though he was, he shrugged with a shake of his head in that humored sort of pity- not entirely selfless.

Steps in, another sign to some Mary person that everyone happens to know, and all's well in the world. Suddenly, Juan nudges Matt. _This_ catches his attention.

A grin. "Hey, Mr. Nickel."

"Juan, dude." A nod, he crossed his leg with his foot balanced over his knee and crossed his arms. "How's it goin' for ya? Like, yeah..."

"So far, so good, Nickel, but..." He turned his head fully to face him, beaming. "His name's 'Polly,' but the way."

"Dude, what?"

"Up next, the kid with the peace sign right on his forehead."

"What about him?"

"He's likely my biggest fan/stalker thing. He makes noodles."

"What the Hell--"

Sneeze. Bless-you's eroded from behind Polly in the line.

"Hi. Sorry, I'm sick." A fairly short, scrawny little bean of a kid hovered over the table. Pens, sweaters, a hat, and some manilla folders pressed against his chest as he wiped his nose with a handkerchief. "My name's Apollo, and I'm sick."

"Oh, nah, it's cool dude." Matt grinned, his elbows hit the table as he leaned forward. "What would you like me to sign, yo?"

"This stuff." He gently placed his belongings on the table. "And my forehead, but careful. I'm sorta sick."

"Dude, what?"

"I'm sick."

"No, no... Dude, you want me to sign all this?"

"Yeah, I'll give you a dollar."

"Okay, okay. Suits me just fine." He slouched and grabbed a pen, he was immediately handed a thick, red Sharpie.

"I don't want it to get all washed away and stuff." He gagged, pulled out his hanky and spit. Apollo shuffled it back to his pocket.

"...Sure. So you're name's Apollo?" Matt blinked. "I heard from my buddy next door that you make noodles."

"Oh no! That's when I was Polly Yogi." Apollo nodded sincerely. "I used to make noodles, but I don't anymore. Not for a few years. "Now, I'm Apollo Prince. My brother's a cop, but he's sick too."

"I see."

"Can you sign the jacket to Dustin? That's his name. The shirt to his girlfriend, Maggey, or whatever. She's a cop lady too, but she's not sick. She gets to be a cop."

"Alrriiiiight," He dragged the sharpie across the shirt, and never forgot how much he hated signing shirts. Too many folds to go over.

He handed the jacket and the shirt to the boy and eyed him.

"So are you and Juan Corrida best friends?"

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, best friends. I have a best friend. He's not sick."

"Who isn't sick around here?" Matt imitated a gag with his index finger in his mouth.

Apollo sniffled into a loud sneeze yet again. Matt rolled his eyes. "And no, we're not really best friends."

"Because he's all famous, right?" The boy smiled.

He knocked his elbow against the table, almost obnoxiously. He drifted his eyes next door. The shmuck was _watching_. He shrugged. It wasn't likely that Juan could really hear anything, anyway.

"Not really that. I'm really more popular than he is."

"That's not what that survey on GAIA said--"

"And what the Hell is GAIA?"

"Well, it's a site, and... and it's really neat, and... stuff."

"Whatever." Matt pressed his eyes shut, impressed by his own patience(in reality, there wasn't much there to begin with, but he lived with it). "Y'know, you're really kinda bayste for me, dude."

"Haha!" He scrunched his face to show he was just _thrilled_ by whatever the words meant. He followed by a sick squeal.

"Okay, so those sweaters?"

"Yeah, sign them."

"To who?"

"Say 'To Mom', okay?"

"Sure, sure, dude.

"Okay, then these folders next, but... they're really sorta not for you, but you're sorta famous." He poked his forehead- _I'm not even going to ask anymore_. "Sorta, so I guess this works out, maybe."

"Maybe?" Apollo nodded, getting a glare back from the actor. Maybe it was based on taht occupation that the kid just kept grinning ear to ear. "You've never smoked a thing, have you?"

"No, sir!"

"Start. Start with pot, dude."

"But the Jammin' Ninja says not to do drugs!"

"Lemme' sign." He grabbed the folder, the first photo he slid out was, in fact, a photo of the man at the table next to him- Juan.

"I guess you can doodle yourself in there, maybe?" He eyed the print as Engarde drew what turned out to be devil horns and a soul patch, swirly 'stache on the man's face. "Jammin' Schmuck."

He looked up at an eager Apollo. "I'll give you the guy's phone number, so long as you like... Leave."

"It's okay, I already have his manager's number, but for some reason the service has changed--"

"No, dude. Home and cell, all the way."

"Sure!"

"Sure!" He sank into his chair with a snarky grin, writing a slew of numbers under his name. He handed it back to the boy with a devilish satisfaction.

"Hey, thanks!" He hugged the print.

"Now, back off you little tweaker." He gave him a high-five, but cringed as Apollo immediately kissed his own palm afterwards. "Yeah, see ya!"

"Bye bye!" He waved his hand willy-nilly and ran out through the door, sneezing loudly as he waved again at the exit.

Suddenly, the room just seemed fairly louder, but something was more relaxing about it. Matt Engarde was particularly terrible at dealing with even the lightest of awkward fans.

He snaked his eyes over to Engarde, whom was, awkwardly on the phone. _Oh Hell yeah, Matt. Hell. Yeah._

Juan's face turned over to Matt.

Instant gratification.

A sharp glare and turned away, holding a hand up to his next fan. Instant gratification for life.

A vibration spooked up his own wrist. He looked to see some unknown number on his caller ID.

Son of a _bitch_.

Ohhhhhkayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.... Worst fill ever, I know, but- but it worked out in my head, so I'm going to _pretend_ it's a decent fill for now. OOC-ness on Apollo's side to the extreme, but I'd imagine him to be a little cow-licked in the face at this age of like.... 13-14?

Maybe, I'm out on this, good eats.


	14. Trucy the Weeaboo

http:// teagueful. livejournal. ?thread=15150491#t15150491

-----------------

"NII-SAMA!"

Otherwise, he was having a rather mundane day. He started wondering just what happened-- where did this start? How? When?? Who could have done this to her? Phoenix? Klavier? Ema? Brushel? I don't think anonymous would even go this low, but some sick person had let Trucy get a hold of something... Something terrible.

"Nii-sama! Want to see my new sugoi Magic Panties no Jutsu desu ka?"

"What?"

She did it again.

"Onegai!!" She stomped her foot. "It's a lot of fun, so look at me kudasai~!"

"I'm going for a walk."

"Baka! BAKA NII-SAMA!"

"What do cows have to do with this?"

"I meant STUPID! I'm not speaking Spanish here!"

"I figured..." There's nothing like messing with her at this point.

"You meanie!" She stuck out her tongue. "I'm going to make Mr. Hat use his Hat no Jutsu on you!!"

"Hat no Jutsu..."

"SHINEEEEEEE!!!!" Crank. Crank.

"..."

"Trucy?"

"Yes, Nii-Sama?"

"Why does Mr. Hat have a 'X3' face?"

"Because it's kawaii desu~!"

"Did you just 'desu~!' me?"

"Ummm... yes?"

"That's it, I'm calling Phoenix."

--

"Apollo, you mean--"

"Yes."

"..."

"She's a weeaboo, Phoenix." A sob drifted across the other line.

"H-" A hic. "How did this happen, Apollo?!?!"

"I don't know, but she must have gotten some Anime somewhere."

"WHO DID THIS TO MY BABY?!?!" A sob.

"I don't know, Mr. Wright, but weeaboos are serious business."

"I'm on my way home right now!"

"Do you have an idea?" Apollo paused. "What should we do?"

He could hear the older man attempt to calm himself down over the phone. After a minute or so, he seemed to be as diplomatic as he usually was-- sort of. "There's only one way to talk to a weeaboo, Apollo."

"And that is--"

"You can't tell them Anime isn't cool. They get all butthurt about it." He said. "They don't even know English anymore."

"What?"

"They figure the more they say 'desu~!', the more they'll slowly turn Japanese..."

"But that doesn't make any--"

"I know, but maybe we can still save her." Apparently Phoenix was well into walking on his way home with car horns and such on the other line... "She hasn't eaten ramen yet, has she?"

"I don't think so, but she's definitely had Pocky at some point."

"..." Silence. "How can you tell?"

"She drew a 'X3' face on Mr. Hat--"

"AN 'X3' FACE?!?" Gasp. "WHY DIDN'T YOU TEL ME THIS BEFORE?!?!?!"

"I didn--"

"I'm almost home! Don't let her go up to her room!"

"Why not?"

"She'll just watch more!"

--

"TRUCY!!!" Phoenix stomped in as the door flew and closed immediately behind him. Apollo sat on the couch holding Trucy be the elbow as she still struggled to leave.

"..."

"Trucy?" Apollo stared down at his sister.

"Oh God, it's worse than I thought--" Phoenix walked around in front of her, kneeling and grabbing the girl by the shoulders. "She doesn't even asnwer to her own name anymore!" A shake.

"How do we solve that."

"We'll have to talk to her..." His gaze slowly, eerily turned towards Apollo. "In Wapanese."

"Wapa-- Mr. Wright!" A shock, Apollo braced backwards. "You cant! You'll--"

"It's dangerous, I knot! But we have to help her."

"But --"

"Tadaima~!"

"Otosan!" Trucy gleamed. "I'm so glad your home da yo!!"

The man nearly fell back as Trucy glomped him. "I felt it safe to come home early. Kakkoi desu ne?"

"Kakkoi desu yo!"

"Trucy Chan," Apollo heard this and sighed. "I have a question for you desu."

"Ah! I can do it!" Trucy held up a peace sign, and Phoenix was almost about to sob again, but he held it back. "Watashi wa supaa sumaato!"

Phoenix and Apollo cringe.

"Nani the HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING KA?!?!"

"Ehhh? Nani--"

"TRUCY CHAN!" Phoenix stood up. "You know you're not allowed to watch anime!"

"D-demo--"

"No demos!" He through his hat to the floor. "Who lent you Naruto ka?!"

"I... I--"

"Trucy chan..." Phoenix knelt back down and embraced her in a hug. "Aishiteru. You can tell me nandemo, you know that."

"Otosan!" She sobbed. "I-- I've been getting it from... from Gavin Klavier-San!"

Apollo and Phoenix catch their glances and Apollo heads swiftly into the other room. The sound of ramen cups falling to the floor tap like a heartbeat as Apollo can be heard getting the phone.

"Moshi moshi?" Apollo flinched on the other line. "Klavier desu~!"

"PROSECUTOR GAVIN!"

"Dare desu ka?!"

"Watashi no namae wa Apollo desu, you damn airhead."

"Forehead chan~!"

"Don't call me CHAN, you baka." Apollo locked his brow as Klavier KYAAAAed. "What did you do to Trucy Chan?"

"We-tachi were watching Naruto, ne? Got a problem with that?"

"Yes I have teh problems! And you sa 'JA', not 'NE!'"

"Sou ka?"

"She's eating RAMEN because of you!"

"Ramen? Where?!?!"

"Prosecutor Ga--"

"I want teh delicious ramens!"

"Trucy chan just ate it all."

"Nooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" Klavier hung up.

Apollo nearly fell to the floor. What's going on? He didn't know, but he just shivered in his place as he heard another slam from the office door."

"KISAMA!"

"Klavi-kun!"

"You OMNOMNOMED all teh ramens!" Klavier pointed at her directly. "I thought there was something between us!"

"Klavi-kun! You're so kowai--"

"Naruto's not kakkoi anymore!" Klavier crossed his arms. "You'd make a terrible Gaara cosplay and Naruto ends up with Hinata, not Sasuke!"

"So he can be my husband!! He is so kawaii~!"

"Urusai! He ends up with Sakura!"

"Dame da!"

"Damn right, dame da..." Klavier crossed his arms.

"That can't be canon!"

"Sure it is. I read the leak on 4chan."

"KYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!"

"It's okay though. We can get into something else that's really kakkoi, like video gam--"

"I heard Code Geass and Lucky Star were sugoi!"

Phoenix slapped Trucy across the face. A mark from his bracelet stamped across her sideburn area as she fell to the floor.

"You know. Naruto hasn't been cool for like... twenty years now. I don't get it! This is ridiculous!"

Apollo and Klavier were lost in expression.

"Think about it. I was fourteen when it was actually cool, but by the time I was fifteen there were so many of you damn weeaboos that you ruin everything from Fullmetal Alchemist to Final Fantasy VII!"

"..."

"What do you too have to say for yourselves?!"

"Sorry Daddy..."

"Tru-- Trucy?"

"If Naruto's not cool anymore, " a look towards Klavier. "I don't know what to do anymore.

Klavier smirked from behind with a nod. Did he actually just... unweeaboo a weeaboo? He did.

"Arigatou Prosecutor Gavin kun."

"Do itashimashite!" Klavier waved his hand and left. "Ja--"

"Klavi--"

"Ne!" Apollo's head sunk as Klavier left.

"I'm so sorry Daddy! You too Polly!" She hugged them both. "I promise I won't eat anymore ramen and watch anymore Naruto! I'll just play Nintendo DS games for the rest of my life and retain my sanity!"

"Perfect, let's go play Elite Beat Agents!" Phoenix grinned.

And all was well in the kingdom.


	15. Space and His Radius

There wasn't much that surprised him about "spacing out" from time to time. He had his share for staring out into space, and Maya was particularly good at it too, although, that usually happens around meal time, or any sort of time where she really should be concentrating. That being said, it didn't occur to him, and severe degree of it, and one would think they most collected man he knew in the wide world was painfully repellent to it, but apparently, the guy's dad had it too.

They were talking for a while, and Edgeworth mentioned he hadn't slept or eaten well in the past couple of days. A family friend of his was set to be prosecuted, and although it was simple enough, given the evidence put against him, it was just as more distressing.

"I really hope you win this case, Wright."

"You do? It's not all that often I get to hear you say that, you know."

"I'm just... astounded, really." He cupped his chin with his palm, elbowing his desk and moving his broad eyes to Phoenix. "Really, this bothers me."

"Well, I told my client I'd do my best for him."

"Thank you, Wright."

He shifted his foot over his knee. Leaned back into the sofa. "Don't thank me yet. You're as tired as I've ever seen you, so uh... Care for any lunch?"

Edgeworth just sort-of looked at him for a couple seconds. He looked at his paperwork. "Hmm.."

"Oh, it's okay. I'll got pick something up for you. McDonalds?"

And Edgeworth nodded, he blinked into his own lap and looked up to Phoenix. That peculiar, distant meekness that came with living with no consideration for... consideration, obviously.

So Phoenix Wright left to buy hamburgers for the first time, to his confounding, without Maya.

That's not exactly how it played out, oddly enough. He remember Edgeworth's general dislike for whatever it is... space food. He bought whatever the chicken snack-thing in the tortilla was, the McSomething; and fries. He, the natural nutritionist, ordered himself an MnM's McFlurry.

And so he headed back.

There was an ambulance outside the department building as he headed back. It was on the other side of the street, and looked like Hell's share of a traffic congestion. There were three cop police vehicles, and all four of their lights were lit, sirens annoying as ever, too. It was up to Wright to figure out how he heard none of it just a few blocks away.

And was it a such laughable matter that, when passed Ms. Fright and opened the office door, Edgeworth was standing by the window? It caught him off-guard, before he realized he had not seen the man standing since they had last been in court. On that matter, he felt as if he had not seen the man's pants in ages. He shrugged and breathed lightly.

He feminized his voice with theatre-major deliberation.

"Honey, I'm home~!"

A door click and a pseudo-lovely call didn't move the other man. He pursed his lips and waded over to the window, and it was indeed the ambulance that had led Edgeworth to the window like a siren. Yet his voice came in mute. "What's going on out there, something weird?"

He looked at Edgeworth, who looked out the window, expressionless.

He touched the other man's opposite shoulder, and shook him a little bit until Edgeworth almost fell down.

Phoenix caught him well around the waist, and hesitated with the dangling broad figure before sitting him in his own chair. Edgeworth just stared downward, not to the floor or anything, but a little to Wright's collar. He wasn't even concentrating on that. Just completely adrift. Wright was confused, and he was, if God had scripted this, meant to be.

He emptied the paper bag, lining up one chicken wrap, fries, and a medium soda before the man. And hoping the poignant smell would strike Miles in some way, he dragged the closest chair from the chess board and sat across the prosecutor at his desk, so off-level, with his sternum lined with the edge.

He tore off the lid to his orange soda and drank it straight from the paper. e waited an honest minute to stand, and looked over Edgeworth's desk.

"You okay, Edgeworth?" He leaned forward and waved his hand into the man's face. "Hellooo..."

Immediately. He realized he was frustrated.

Edgeworth's desk phone had a quick-dial for the MED on 8.

What could be better in California, lunch with a mannequin, or elevator music on the other line. That was seven seconds before some weaselly-spoken personality answered. Doctor Hotti.

"Why good morning. Miles, yes?"

"Umm... You recognize this number?"

"Is this not Mr. Edgeworth?"

"Well... No, he's here, but."

"Oh dear, has he taken his medication?"

"Medication?!"

"You don't know, then."

"No, I don't."

Hotti left the phone, and Phoenix was left to look and gaze upon the bookshelf, and read the titles of the larger prints by the letter. Something tempted him in a glance of thought to go look at some of the books, but his feet wouldn't carry him there. Glued to the phone was he, and his hand started brushing itself through the pink-suited man's hair.

It didn't occur to him that Dr. Hotti had returned to the phone until he was a few words in, so he missed that slew, but he cupped the phone and inferred from the rest.

"He's what?

"He's epileptic."

"Oh. Okay then." Phoenix eyed the top of Edgeworth's head. "What the Hell are you talking about?"

"He calls whenever he's close to running out of his medication. He called yesterday, and our prescription is ready for him, as I just checked. He's epileptic, Mister--"

"Wright."

" As fine a man as he is, he must have tried to skip some for whatever reason. Normally he doesn't have any frequent problems, but sensitivity to... flickering lights, bars and shapes, televis--"

"Police lights, gotcha."

"It's all the more likely to take effect if the patient is under any particular stress."

The paperwork. He shook his head, mouthing the single word dope to Miles, obviously with no response. "Well, what do I do, Doctor?"

"If you can stay by him, that would be fine for now."

"That's it?"

"For now. How long has be been like this?"

"At the most ummm... give it fifteen... twenty-five minutes? Listen, I don't have a car, and.--"

"Just stay by him then, if he falls into and jerky, movie-type seizure, call me back and I'll send an ambulance. We have the address on file. Otherwise, he should wake up."

"How long does this last?"

"He err... He recorded one that lasted an hour with us."

He mouthed an hour in relay to Edgeworth, gawking at him.

Well, damn.

At first he expected to be there for a while, but eventually, he had hoped for an hour.

Despite any and all prior experience, rather poor nursing abilities led him astray into Edgeworth's desk drawers, scanning his eyes over dead pens and one black stapler. And why did that humor him so much? No reason, he was simply trying to distract himself. After all, Edgeworth's court records was out in the open, and the defense attorney knew he could but shouldn't be an absolute prick as to look at it.

Mile's appeared to be rather... belly-up, for the first time in a long time.

He turned around to the outside world to see the ambulance was still there, but as soon as he did, the ambulance had gone quiet. He clenched an MnM between his teeth, to feel the cavity worsen, and flashed back to his mother telling him that a quiet ambulance meant something so sad that he kept watching.

The vehicles had all stopped for a moment, and one quietly drove away in uncoordinated directions.

Blue suits crawled out from the clockwork of their black and white cars, and he decided to respect the dead and direct his gaze from the scene. Phoenix had, in the ulterior depths of his mind, wanted to form some parallel of the event with his very ways of life, and his mind and soul were still unprepared for another of Wright's internal Socratic sessions.

Now, how does this relate to me? It probably doesn't, but it has to. I mean, I saw it with my own two eyes, so it's a part of me now. I guess. This McFlurry's really, really good.

The inner-monologue ended right there with a light huff of air. The blue-suited man looked to the ceiling, and to Edgeworth. He was sweetly dumb enough to speek out in the open. "I'm going nuts here, are you okay?"

He knew he wasn't going to get a response, maybe.

"Fine then, be that way." Phoenix smiled bitterly. He place the ice cream cup atop Edgeworth's lifeless cranium. "Drink on your head. Drink it." He immediately brought it back to his face and took another swallow.

He tempted himself to look at that chicken wrap.

He buried it in the paper bag, so he didn't have to look at it. Whatever kept him from being a kick to the knee, as well as a bumbling fat ass at the same time, was put next to Edgeworth's pen holder. He had the sudden hallucination that he was in some contemporary version of Pan's Labyrinth, and the other's calloused fingertips bordered one all-seeing eye through each palm. This scared him. It had been well and long enough since he had encountered something so vulnerable of itself. It was so surreal; to see another dignified human being, clutched by the cerebellum, and rendered unconscious. Now he felt like some carious, dramatic news-journalist, and he basically was. Wright decided he might as well make him self feel impressive by shrugging the whole thing off like he was five, ten, fifteen minutes ago.

And Miles blinked.

"...Wright."

"Edgeworth? Oh, uhh--" He turned. "Umm... I'm back with lunch, err..."

"I did, didn't I?"

The lawyer went quiet for a second. He looked to the trash can by the door, the empty McFlurry cup. "...Yeah, you did." He turned back to the chicken wrap, and up to see some once-unrecognizable facial expression for distress.

"I called the doctor. Your medicine's ready to be picked up, Edgeworth. Just go whenever, right?" His response was a minute of not saying anything, and he was considerate enough not to look at the patient sitting atop his cushioned chair.

"Wright, I'm sorry--"

"Nothing to be sorry about, Edgeworth. There was an ambulance across the street earlier. It caught my attention too. I mean, its not like some diabetic hanging out at some all-you-can-eat cake buffet--"

"The ambulance..." He hovered his fingertips over the folded bag in front of him. "What's in this?"

"Some chicken McChicken McSuper-yummy lunch thing. I have no idea, but..." Phoenix patted a few books at the large shelf to the wall with his fingers. "It's not space food. I bet it's cool now."

They made eye-contact.

"Is there a microwave in the building, Edgeworth?"

"Sure, in the detective's lounge. It's on the first floor." Miles hung his head , his fingers dragging themselves from the wrap, now tracing around the edges of individual sheets of the court record.

"Care to take a walk? Or I can go wave it for you? You could probably use a na--"

"N-no. I just need to umm...," he turned his head up. There was something red about the rims of his eyes, like he was about to cry. And why would that be? Phoenix concluded that Edgeworth was emberassed, at the very least. It was all in his decorum to feel like the lowest thing on the planet in front of everyone else-like a sneeze was just less than human. He probably wanted to finish his work, that sly, professional bastard.

"Naw-naw, you sneaky workaholic, I'm not letting you slip a fast on past me. You're going to stop working on all that for the rest of the day, got it?" Phoenix walked over to his side, and placed his hand on the man's shoulder. "I think you need fresh air now, more than anything else."

Edgeworth just flinched under the balls of his hand.

"What, since I totally need to work on my motor skills, right?"

"No, I--"

"Right, like that's not something I've heard before. It all implies the same thing."

"No, it doesn't."

Edgeworth looked to the desk, and he stared at the papers like that was enough in bodily communication to tell the blue-suit that he was that much into his work.

Phoenix gave up on the contact, and turned. He pressed his hair over his head, and stared into the spines of all the books. Their stripes and blocks of colors that came with less-than compulsive organization. "An ex I had in college was epileptic." As expected, he regained his audience. "She had the shaky-violently thrashing kind. You know, she was a real sweet girl. Real shy and cozy in her own little radius, and she sorta fumbled like a deer, really. We were sitting in a restaurant on a group date and she just whalloped me in the face and knocked her silverware over."

Miles was quiet.

"She cried a lot after that, what, with fracturing my septum, but even after that, we all promised not to recognize it or put any attention to it. Turns out that was what she liked best about us, so..."

"I, umm..."

Phoenix turned.

"My dad was... like that. Gregory Edgeworth. Do you remember him?"

"A little bit, but he was a nice guy."

Silence.

"I guess I could use some fresh air."

"Sounds good to me." He made several large steps toward the door, "You just lead the way."

"...Thank you, Wright."

Phoenix paused, and faced him with a small, relaxed smile.

"Not a problem."


End file.
